


to be alone with you

by doc_boredom



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, hell it could probably be g, im proofing this later half of it was written during a REALLY bad opening act at a concert tbh, in that order basically, is this a pg wendy's yeah that's what i thought, rated t for uh some touching shenanigans, twrpclub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 23:29:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16418099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doc_boredom/pseuds/doc_boredom
Summary: Sometimes words were too big, too much for him to speak into existence, but with Havve he could simply send jumbled thoughts and daydreams his way and the robot would take them, all too eager to make logical sense of it all.That’s why they just worked.-written based off some twrpclub talk. i've been meaning to write some sung/havve anyways





	to be alone with you

There were a lot of normals in Sung’s life, which was funny for leading such an un-normal life. Normal morning routines, normal days, normal _everything's_ if Sung's being honest with himself. He wakes up (as usual) to Havve’s static buzzing in the back of his mind, a pleasant backwash of white noise with no actual meaning behind it, the most normal thing of them all. _Hey._ Sung speaks into it, sensing Havve turning to him from the other room. _How’d you sleep?_

Now Havve didn’t necessarily sleep. Rather, sometimes he let himself recharge at night while going completely offline. That was the closest the robot got to sleeping, dreaming. Havve makes a sighing noise of sorts and Sung spends the time waiting, stretching his limbs out in bed, scratching at the skin around his core with a yawn. _Nothing out of the ordinary, as usual, Sung._ Havve finally responds, as he always did when Sung asked that question. Turns out androids did _not_ dream of electric sheep, or of anything else worth note, but Sung always felt the need to ask, as if one day Havve would surprise him with something extraordinary.

 _Practice?_ Havve prompted suddenly. _You did sleep in, everyone else is up._

Sung slumps back into bed, staring up at his ceiling plastered with ancient glow in the dark stars, his brain not quite caught up with the rest of him yet. _Working on it._ He promises and he hears Havve snort in response. _What?_

_I know you’re still in bed, Sung._

_Yeah, and?_ His lips quirk despite himself.

_And you’re gonna stay there until someone does something about it._

Now he’s really smiling, pulling the blankets up over his grinning mouth, all the way to the bottoms of his eyes.   _And who’s gonna do something about it?_ He questions giddily, barely able to keep still.

And that’s when Havve shoves his way through the door and into his room. Most everyone would scream in terror upon seeing Havve Hogan, death made flesh, towering over them in violent monochrome with bloody murder eyes, _especially_  with an entrance like that- but Sung wasn’t most people. He plays it up though, shrieking and throwing his blanket over his head completely, a flimsy defense against the robot’s clawing hands. _Sung._ He can hear the laughter hidden away in the terseness of Havve’s voice and he loves it. _Stop._

“No!” He says aloud, burrowing further away from the robot. But there’s only so many sheets and blankets and bed space, especially when Havve starts to intrude on the latter, crowding him back into the headboard. “No, no!” He shrieks again, a little more desperately this time.

 _Sung._ One hand slips under the sheet, cold metal causing Sung to jolt and gasp. _You’re doing this to yourself._ Another now, on his knee cap, his thigh…

Suddenly Havve is just as tangled up as he is, staring right at Sung with dim optics and a cocked head, his hands still on him. And it’s so easy to move despite the mess they’ve managed to make, to press his face into the one of the few soft spots the robot has. The dip of his shoulder, between his chest piece and the spiked armor on his forearms, icy cold and thrumming with the distant workings of his 808 and the device deep inside of him. _You caught me._ Sung says after a moment, refusing to use actual words.

 _As I always do. You’re very easy prey, after all._ Havve laughs fondly. _And so warm, too._ One hand moves, Havve’s right, tracing up his side idly. The other, Havve’s left, still rests on the inside of his thigh, a dangerous and tempting thing.

But Sung doesn’t fall into that temptation, instead pressing close with the intent of comfort, a soft sound sighing out of him. Havve understands immediately, his hands instead finding their way to his back, the nape of his neck, rubbing the skin there. _Did you dream?_ The robot questions softly.

 _Just a little._ Of home, of a lost life that he would never get back, the usual things. _Don’t wanna talk about it though._ The link was a gods send at times. Sometimes words were too big, too much for him to speak into existence, but with Havve he could simply send jumbled thoughts and daydreams his way and the robot would eagerly take them, all too eager to make logical sense of it all.

That’s why they just _worked_.

Sung looks up and presses his face against the robot’s pleasantly cool face plate. “We probably ought to go.” He finally says, despite his own hands having found their way to Havve’s sides. Havve eyes him with dark red optics and suddenly the moment changes, the intent shifting, the space between them (or lack thereof) suddenly more meaningful for different reasons.

“Bastard.” The empath hisses, an empty threat in the face of Havve’s roving hands.

Havve hums back softly. _But you’ve got me in this bed now. It’d be a shame if we left so soon._ He hates that he loves how easily Havve can plaster him up against his larger frame, all his sharp edges and sides nonexistent like this. Cold to hot to cold, Sung’s brain becoming useless between that and the pointed way Havve’s hands slide down his back. _Five more minutes._ Not a question, not a request. A softly spoken demand just between the two of them.

And even when five turns into something more like fifteen to twenty, Sung’s more than happy to comply.

 -

So why is it despite the normalcy, despite a great beginning to the day, that things go terribly, horribly wrong?

It’s not on Phobos or Meouch, or even him if he really thinks about it, but at some point during practice things go from being great to not so great faster than he can keep up with.

It comes as a complete surprise because they’ve got their respective walls up between them as they play. It was easier this way because they felt music differently, reacted to the eventual crowds differently too. Havve couldn’t take the way Sung drank it all in with his core, playing it up and relishing in it and in turn Sung couldn’t take the laser focus the robot put into drumming out song after song, losing himself in the savage rhythm of it. So they did this and it worked just fine for the two of them.

Until Havve’s drumsticks came down much too hard during a drum solo and cracked in half, surprising all of them.

Meouch let out one last awkward hopping bass riff in the aftermath of it, Sung and Phobos having stopped immediately. “Been a while since that’s happened.” Meouch snorts, already slipping the strap of his bass of his shoulders. “Goin’ a little too hard there, huh Havve?" The Leoian asks easily.

Havve doesn’t look up though. Doesn’t shrug it off. Instead Sung watches him stare at the splintered wood, his optics terrifyingly bright. _Warning! Warning! Warning!_ something inside him screams, but that can’t be the case. Not when everything had been so good earlier.

Right?

But then all hell breaks loose.

Sometimes Havve just _snapped_ . Most times he could feel it coming up on him and found ways to slip away, to make himself scarce until the urges passed. Sung could feel the itch of it in the back of his mind, their link drawn tight to the point of breaking whenever it did, but Havve always found his way back to them, to _him_ , after a day or two away.

Sometimes they didn’t just pass though, and sometimes Sung would make Phobos and Meouch leave for the day as he welcomed Havve back home, cleaning kits and tools at the ready to make the robot whole again.

Sometimes, Sung had as much blood on his hands as Havve did.

Sung is just peeking over his wall and into Havve’s head when the robot whips the broken drumsticks at Meouch. It’s a too fast blur, something that can’t even be caught until you’re grasping at the aftermath, trying to make sense of it. They hit and Meouch yelps in response, bringing his paw up to his face, eyes wide with surprise and fear.

Havve! He’s not sure if he’s said it outloud or across their link but it doesn’t matter because the robot is up and stalking towards Meouch, his intent clear. Rip rend tear break _hurt_. Phobos gasps and Sung shoves him back and away, knowing that there’s only seconds before Havve’s hands come down on Meouch.

Before something irreversible happens.

“Havve!” He shouts it now, loud and commanding. The robot’s head snaps in his direction, nothing but static roaring between them. Meouch takes the hint, booking out of room with Phobos in tow, leaving just the two of them alone.

This was the Havve he had woken up with all those years ago in the cave, a silent and damning thing, more monster than machine. Sung stares at him now, across the crisscrossing wires and glow of the recording equipment. “Havve.” He says a bit more softly now, hoping to reach the other across that impossible, imaginary distance.

The roar grows as he tips his head to one side, like the ocean, churning and damning and real. His wall is still up, making it impossible to make sense of what the robot was thinking, but it couldn’t be good. “Havve.” Sung says a third time, an impossible whisper.

Havve moves and it’s all wrong. He lunges into Sung, those earlier hands that had been so soft now so rough as they grapple for purchase. Sung shoves back, his breath coming short before Havve has even had a chance to wrap his hands around his throat. _Stop!_ He begs over their link. _Havve, stop!_

Nothing answers back.

His hands find the sides of Havve’s faceplate and he grips them, gritting his teeth as the metal pushes into the flesh of his hands, cutting into it as easy as paper. “Havve.” He says the other’s name aloud again. “Please.”

Something flickers, causing Havve’s optics to dim and brighten. Recognition? Sung still can’t tell, so he stays there, pressed into wall, his feet nowhere near the floor. _It’s okay, whatever it is, it’s okay._ Back to their link, making sure each word is slow and careful, as soothing as he can manage. “We’re okay.” Sung switches back to speaking aloud. “...You're okay…”

His optics flicker again and suddenly they’re dim and tired and they’re falling, Sung sliding down the wall as Havve tips forward. It’s just like before but it’s not, a tangle of limbs without any of the soft warmth, instead just the catching of breath and the slowing of an 808.

 _Sung._ Havve finally laments after gods know how long. _I-_

Sung slides his hands down the front of his face plate, blood trailing in the wake of his bloodied palms, stopping him because there was no need for explanation, for reasoning. This was simply what and who Havve was, after all, and there was no changing it. _I told you, it’s okay._ He stays there like that, hands still on Havve’s mask, never once looking away from his burning eyes. _I love you._

And he did and does and would always, despite it all. Because Havve was his and he was Havve’s and nothing else could ever compare to what they had.

Havve’s optics go dark as he slumps into Sung, the urge passed, the moment gone. _I love you too._ He manages back as soft as can be.

Just another normal day, indeed.

 


End file.
